A journal of self-discovery, healing, growth, and growing pains.

Where Am I Now?

Both the cause and the con­se­quence is that I’ve been sleep­ing ter­ri­bly late­ly. Next week I’m going to try to have a more self-con­trol and stay on a strict sched­ule. Bring some order into my life.

I tried to make an appoint­ment with my ther­a­pist, since I have $300 men­tal health cov­er­age with my work per cal­en­dar year (although this only amounts to two ses­sions). Unfortunately, I need a refer­ral from my fam­i­ly doc­tor to claim the cov­er­age, because refer­rals are only good for one year, and it’s been that long since I saw him.

I think of how judg­men­tal my dad was when I told him I was see­ing a psy­chol­o­gist. But then I real­ize that he’s prob­a­bly the only per­son I feel like I can real­ly talk to right now (my ther­a­pist, not my dad). I wish I could talk to my friends, but my thoughts are either too embar­rass­ing to admit to them, or too com­pli­cat­ed for them to understand.

I’ve been lis­ten­ing to some qui­et, som­bre stuff late­ly. Trying to acquire a taste for Leonard Cohen’s mid­dle years, when he trad­ed in his gui­tar for horns and vio­lins, even some Depeche Mode. Depeche Fucking Mode. It hasn’t been helping.

I just don’t know what to do with myself late­ly. But I’m pret­ty sure I real­ly need to cry right now.

When not being glib­bly oblique on Twitter, I con­fess I’m pret­ty much there myself. Compounded by phys­i­cal prob­lems a young per­son wouldn’t expe­ri­ence, as far as the sleep goes. If I weren’t hav­ing a trip to look for­ward to, and dis­tract myself with, I’d be talk­ing to a shrink right now too. Am won­der­ing how it will be when I return. Hoping for some ran­dom cathar­tic change to drop out of Paris skies.

I know you prob­a­bly think we are too dif­fer­ent, but you have my vic­ar­i­ous hug.